by Debby Giusti
Mrs. Taylor nodded.
He pointed to the others. “Special Agent Kelly McQueen from the CID office, Chaplain Sanchez and Lieutenant Bellows. May we come in?”
Phil removed his hat as he opened the screen door, motioned Kelly inside and then followed her into the living area along with the chaplain and lieutenant.
The wife turned to stare at them, her eyes wide with worry. “Where’s Rick?”
Phil’s face wore the grief they all were feeling. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. There was an accident. Your husband was hit by a live round.”
“Oh, dear God, no.” She slumped onto the couch. The chaplain hastened to her side. “Was…was anyone else hurt?” she asked.
“Only Corporal Taylor, ma’am.” Phil pulled in a deep breath. “The medics were on-site. They tried their best, but your husband suffered a massive loss of blood and couldn’t be saved.”
She lowered her face into her hands and moaned. “Why?” she repeated over and over again. The lieutenant huddled over her.
Kelly watched as the men offered words of comfort. Mrs. Taylor shook her head back and forth and began to cry. Her heart-wrenching sobs soon filled the small living area. The chaplain handed her his handkerchief, which she accepted, but her face remained buried in her hands.
Mrs. Taylor appeared to be in her mid-thirties, which was at least half a decade older than her deceased husband. Medium height and slight of build, she had appeared capable and in control when she’d first opened the door. Kelly’s initial impression was of a strong woman who usually got what she wanted.
Now, sympathy for the grieving widow welled up within Kelly, overriding her attempt to look at the situation with an impartial eye. A lump lodged in her throat and sorrow wrapped her in a tight hold. No matter how competent Mrs. Taylor seemed, nor how much any one of them regretted what had happened just a short time ago, Kelly couldn’t do anything to change today’s tragic events.
Wrapping her arms around her waist, she stepped into the hallway, partly in hopes of distancing herself from the pitiful site of the broken widow and partly because she was aware of another sound.
Above Mrs. Taylor’s sobs, Kelly heard a feeble call for help. The men, hovering around the grieving widow, seemed oblivious to the frail voice that cried out once again.
She followed the cries to a small bedroom at the rear of the house. The door hung ajar. Peering into the darkened interior, she saw a hospital bed with the side rails raised.
Kelly stepped toward the pile of covers that nearly hid the wrinkled prune of a face that stared up at her. Big eyes—as blue as the sky on a summer’s day—blinked open.
“Mrs. Taylor.” Before Kelly could say anything else the sound of clipped heels signaled someone’s annoyance and approach. Kelly turned to find Lola Taylor standing in the doorway.
“I glanced up as you left the living room.” The widow’s face was blotched from crying, but her eyes reflected anger instead of sorrow. “What are you doing in here?”
“I heard someone call for help,” Kelly quickly explained.
“My mother-in-law suffers from dementia. She doesn’t understand what’s going on. You didn’t mention—”
Kelly shook her head. “I haven’t said anything.”
The younger Mrs. Taylor swiped her hand over her cheeks to wipe away her tears before she approached the bed and smiled down at her mother-in-law. The senior Mrs. Taylor focused her gaze on Kelly. Her frail lips moved as if she was trying to speak.
“Mildred, it’s time for your medicine.” Lola grabbed a bottle on the side table, an extra-strength analgesic sold over the counter. She spilled two pills into her hand and reached for a glass of water on the nightstand.
“Let me help.” Kelly raised the older woman’s shoulders off the pillow so she could swallow the pills. Mildred’s gray hair was pulled back from her face and appeared freshly combed, but an odor of urine wafted up from the crumpled bedding.
Once she had taken the pills, Kelly gently lowered her head back to the pillow and pulled the covers up around the woman’s shoulders, feeling a stab of guilt at her own inability to have cared for her mother at home.
Being in the military meant Kelly could be sent anywhere on a moment’s notice. She had needed a stable environment for her mother, and the local nursing home had been the best option at the time.
Plus, keeping her mom in her own home would have meant round-the-clock care, which wasn’t possible on their limited incomes. Her mother had nothing more than a small social security check coming in each month, and Kelly’s warrant officer pay had been stretched thin just to cover the few extras her mother needed.
Mildred’s eyes drooped closed, and Kelly turned from the bed. As she did, her gaze took in the wide assortment of sleeping pills and over-the-counter pain medications on the nightstand.
Phil appeared in the doorway. “Everything okay?”
Kelly nodded. “I heard a call for help and found Corporal Taylor’s mother.”
He glanced at the now-sleeping woman and then at the widow before he lifted his brow to Kelly. She nodded, hoping he would pick up on her nonverbal cue that she would explain what had happened once they had left the house.
Turning to the widow, Kelly asked, “Do you have relatives in the area?”
Lola shook her head. “My family is from Kentucky, and Rick was an only child. But I have friends in town.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“A little over a year. Rick and I were married fourteen months ago. He was stationed at Fort Knox when we met and was on orders for Fort Rickman. We moved to Freemont a month before he deployed to Afghanistan.”
“You were practically newlyweds.” As soon as the words left Kelly’s mouth, she wanted to reel them in again.
Lola’s face clouded. “Rick said military life would be an adventure. I never thought it would end like this.”
Kelly’s heart went out to the widow. She opened her arms and pulled her close, feeling her slender frame shake with grief. Kelly patted her back and tried to think of something to say to lessen the load this woman carried. Nothing came to mind except that life is fragile, which someone had mentioned at her own mother’s funeral. The memory caused Kelly’s eyes to burn. Phil stood in the doorway, his gaze lowered, his face drawn.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were the heavy pull of the old woman’s breathing and Lola’s sobs. Eventually, she stopped crying and turned away from Kelly to grab a handful of tissues from a box on the bedside table. She dabbed at her eyes, and when she glanced back at Kelly, her face was surprisingly clear and she appeared in control once again.
“It’s been a long day,” she admitted, motioning them into the hallway.
“A survival assistance officer will be assigned to help you with all the death notifications and paperwork,” Phil said as they walked back to the living room.
“My husband’s insurance?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’ll guide you in completing the necessary forms so you can receive the money as soon as possible. The company and the entire battalion stand ready to assist you. You have Lieutenant Bellows’s phone number at the platoon?”
She nodded.
Phil handed her his own card. “Don’t hesitate to call the company if you can’t reach Lieutenant Bellows. Perhaps tomorrow we can return to discuss any arrangements you would like to have for your husband’s interment.”
“Tomorrow?” She seemed unsure.
“Someone will phone you first.”
“Yes, of course.”
Lieutenant Bellows stood. “Mrs. Taylor, is there anyone who can stay with you tonight? Perhaps a friend?”
She stepped toward the door as if ready for them to leave. “I’ll be all right.”
“Are you sure you feel like being alone, ma’am?” Phil asked.
She nodded. “I’m not alone, Captain. My mother-in-law is with me. We’ll be fine. Her mind is sometimes more clear in the morning. I’ll tell her about Rick
’s death after her breakfast tomorrow.”
As much as Kelly hated to leave the widow, she knew Lola wanted and perhaps needed her privacy now. Phil would call her in the morning and make arrangements for them to visit again. Once a survivor assistance officer was selected, that person would be her connection to the military and a support throughout the next few months as Mrs. Taylor tried to get her life in order.
Kelly held out her hand. “Mrs. Taylor, I’d like to talk to you tomorrow. I’ll come out with Captain Thibodeaux.”
Her eyes narrowed as she glanced from the CID agent to Phil. “What do you need to discuss?”
“I’m investigating your husband’s death. I’d like to hear more about what his interests were outside of the military. Perhaps something pertaining to his off-duty time could have had bearing on what happened this evening.”
The widow shook her head. “I don’t see how that could be.”
Before Kelly could answer, Phil tapped her shoulder and nodded toward the door. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said to Mrs. Taylor.
The cool night air swirled around the small military entourage as they stepped onto the porch. The door closed behind them. Phil supported Kelly as she hobbled down the stairs.
A stiff breeze picked at her jacket. She pulled the edges closed. Patting the slick waterproof fabric, she expected to feel moisture from Lola’s tears. Instead, the fabric was dry.
Turning to look over her shoulder at the farmhouse, Kelly spotted a curtain pulled back ever so slightly in the living room window.
A second gust of wind assaulted her. Kelly shivered.
Phil protectively placed his hand on her shoulder. “Cold?”
She shook her head and stepped toward the car door he held open. “Confused is more like it.”
“Probably that mishap you had earlier,” he said.
She would let him think what he wanted, but being caught in a snare wasn’t the reason for the way she felt. The real problem was trying to sort through a number of mismatched signals from the widow. The woman had sobbed in Kelly’s arm without producing tears to wet her jacket. But something else didn’t add up in the CID agent’s mind.
If Mildred Taylor was as sickly as she appeared, surely she would be under medical care, yet all of the bottles on the nightstand were over-the-counter painkillers and sleeping pills. Strange that none of her medication had been prescribed by a doctor.
FOUR
“I’ll drive Special Agent McQueen home, if you both follow me,” Phil said to Bellows and the chaplain after he had closed the passenger door and rounded the car to the driver’s side. “Carl, can you give the chaplain a lift back to the company?”
The lieutenant nodded. “No problem, sir.”
The chaplain and platoon leader headed for the other two parked vehicles while Phil slipped behind the wheel of Kelly’s car.
“I can drive myself home,” she insisted.
He smiled at her continual attempt to be in control of every situation. “You probably could. But since your right leg is injured, why don’t you accept my help? That way I won’t have to worry about you.”
She returned his smile, which he took as a good sign. Maybe he was making headway with her. They needed to work together, and a little less go-it-alone determination on her part would make the job a whole lot easier.
He stuck the key in the ignition and started the engine, but his eyes were drawn to a light that flickered on in the senior Mrs. Taylor’s bedroom at the rear of the house.
Kelly followed his gaze. “What’s your take on Lola Taylor?”
He put the gear in Reverse. “Hard to say. She was all over the map tonight, sobbing in the living room and then almost confrontational about her mother-in-law in the bedroom.”
“My thoughts exactly, although we both know that grief can manifest in strange ways.”
“That’s true, yet—” he shrugged. “—something seemed off tonight. I didn’t want to leave either woman alone, but I got the distinct impression Mrs. Lola Taylor felt we had over-stayed our welcome.”
After turning the car around, Phil headed along the driveway. At the gate he turned right, toward Freemont, with the chaplain and lieutenant following in the rear.
On each side of the road, tall pine trees mixed with hardwoods whose branches formed a canopy over the two lanes of asphalt. In the daytime, the thick forest of autumn foliage would be visible, but tonight the trees were cloaked in darkness. The headlights cut a path into the night, exposing patches of leaves that lay scattered across the roadway. With each gust of wind, more fell like confetti into the beam of the headlights.
The tires hummed over the roadway. Phil glanced at Kelly, who seemed lost in her own world. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said.
She turned, seemingly embarrassed by her own reticence. “Sorry. Guess I’m not good company.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being quiet, but sometimes talking helps.”
She nodded and raked her hand through her hair. “I was thinking about everything that happened today and how life can change in an instant.”
“Usually not for the better.”
She raised her brow. “Meaning?”
“Meaning good things take time to develop. Think about how long it takes to form a friendship or build on a relationship. When tragedy strikes it happens quickly, often in the blink of an eye. A heart attack. An auto accident. A misfire of a rifle.”
“Is that what occurred today?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Ballistics will identify the rifle. We could have answers within the next couple of days.”
“I keep thinking about the men in my company. How many of them are lying on their bunks tonight, wondering if they could have shot the fatal round?”
“Sounds to me as if the company commander is concerned about his men. That’s the mark of a good officer and a good commander.”
Phil gazed at the road. “A commander ensures every precaution is taken to keep the men and women in his unit safe.”
“Are you feeling guilty?”
“Not guilty, but responsible. My job is to train my men so they’re combat ready and can accomplish the mission if they’re called into battle.”
“Accidents happen under the best or the worst of circumstances,” she offered.
“Which doesn’t justify what happened today.”
“We’ll know more tomorrow, Phil. Give it time. The questions troubling you tonight will be answered.”
Once again, he focused on the road and tried to calm the inner turmoil he had felt ever since he had ordered the cease-fire. Maybe Kelly was right. He needed to give the investigation time. Hopefully, in a few days the truth would come to light.
They drove in silence until Kelly pointed to the brick ranch that sat back from the road. “That’s my house on the left.” Although bathed in darkness, the home and surrounding yard appeared neat and appealing.
Phil turned onto the drive and parked in front of the garage. The chaplain pulled the pickup to a stop behind Kelly’s car. Climbing out, he tossed the keys to Phil.
“I’ll see you both in the morning.” The chaplain waved, then crawled into the lieutenant’s car, and the two men headed back to post.
Phil glanced down at the console. “I’ll pull your car into the garage if you tell me where you hide the automatic opener.”
“It’s under the visor,” Kelly said. “But just leave the car parked here. I can move it inside later.”
He shook his head. “No way. You need to keep pressure off that leg of yours. Go into the house, and I’ll bring the keys to you.”
She stepped out of the car and then hesitated before closing the passenger door.
Noticing the strained look on her face, he backtracked. “I won’t come in if you don’t want me to.”
She smiled. A good sign. “Actually, I was thinking you look tired, Phil. Would a cup of coffee help?”
He chuckled. “You must have r
ead my mind.”
“Hardly. But the bags under your eyes were a dead giveaway. I bet you didn’t sleep while you were in the field.”
He shrugged. “You know how it is. Too many details to manage.”
“Then I’ll make the coffee extra strong,” she said over her shoulder as she unlocked the front door and stepped inside.
Phil found the automatic opener and pushed the remote button, noting the meticulously clean garage as the heavy door rolled open. Not even a cobweb in the corner. Evidently, the CID agent didn’t clutter up her garage with junk. He could probably say the same thing about her life.
Kelly was different from most of the women he knew, with their baubles and bracelets and big purses that held everything imaginable. In contrast, Kelly seemed neat and compact. Nothing extra, but all quality.
He rubbed his hand over his jaw and smiled as he climbed from the car. Actually, she was a refreshing change of pace. Eyeing the back entrance that led from the garage to the house, Phil opted to play it safe by knocking on the front door.
Kelly had been nice enough to invite him in for coffee. He wanted to mind his manners and not spook her into rescinding the invitation. Right now coffee was just what he needed.
“It’s unlocked,” she called in response to his knock.
Phil turned the knob and stepped into a small but inviting living room decorated in blue and green. A plaid couch and an overstuffed chair in a matching floral print were arranged around a glass-top coffee table that gave the place an open, airy feel.
Colorful watercolors of historic Savannah homes hung on the walls. He had visited the old part of the city a number of times when he’d been on temporary duty in nearby Fort Stewart.
A curio stand in the corner contained a collection of delicate teacups and matching saucers, along with pictures of a much younger Kelly and a woman she resembled. Probably her mom.
“I’m in the kitchen,” Kelly called to him.
Phil followed the sound of her voice and the smell of fresh-ground coffee into a cozy kitchen decorated in shades of yellow. Standing at the counter, she turned to greet him. Her eyes twinkled as bright as the stars in the sky. Something had lifted from her shoulders—perhaps the stress of the day or the investigation—and for an instant, he wished he could come home with Kelly on a regular basis.
